


Voicemail

by orphan_account



Series: call me maybe [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Poor Jeremy, Pre-Squip, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, sorry this is a vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Jeremy struggles against the tides of his self deprecating thoughts on another average morning. Everything is totally and completely fine.





	Voicemail

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t actually written anything besides essays in 4 years so this is probably shit. Self-betaed so all mistakes are mine, correct me on tenses and grammar in the comments.

“Sorry, I-I wasnt trying to— I feel bad i jus-just— Sorry I’ll get out of y-your way I—“

“Seriously Jeremy, just cut it out!”

“Wha— what?”

“Cut it out with all the stuttering and the apologizing! Its annoying me and everyone around you.”

He goes silent and casts his eyes downwards. His thoughts start racing and roaring, drowning out the rest of his mother’s reprimands as he stands watching her make the bed ‘correctly’. 

How much has he been bothering the people he talks to? Does every person he meet feel the same way, the same disgust he feels toward himself? His mother seemingly confirmed all of his worst fears in just a few sentences. The world around Jeremy shifts suddenly from unbearably fast-paced to a terribly slow crawl. He feels like everything around him is made of molasses, and he shudders as the hollow cavity in his chest gets larger and heavier at once. The constant-yet-bearable discomfort in his own skin has become thought consuming, destroying any thread of hope Jeremy had of having a good day.

Every morning when he wakes up, he feels out of place. The nervous energy is always present and he has to stave off overwhelming fear of the day to come. It’s the norm for Jeremy, but he doesn’t know if he can take this cycle much longer. This small inconvenience— his mother’s offhand comment about his stutter— feels like the end of the world. His arms start to feel numb and tingly, and he feels his breaths come faster and more shallow.

“Breathe,” he reminds himself, because he’s apparently so pathetic and useless that he needs a reminder to complete basic bodily functions. In for 4, hold for 6, out for 7. Repeat. After a few cycles of shaky breaths he realizes that his mother had left the bedroom without noticing Jeremy’s internal despair.

Somehow, after fruitlessly trying to tame the swirling storm of his anxiety-addled brain, Jeremy gains his bearings enough to stagger to his desk and grab his cell phone. His brain seems to have latched onto one last hope for salvation from the spiral he can’t seem to escape: call Michael. 

The phrase repeats in his head like a mantra while he shakily presses the speed dial for “Player 1”.  
Call Michael.  
Call Michael  
Michael  
Michael

“Hey dude! You’ve reached Michael’s voicemail. Leave a message after the beep!”  
BEEP.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @heereandqueere for being so amazing at writing that it inspired me to post my garbage.


End file.
